Catherine Jinks TheRoad (46 page)

‘I haven’t eaten since breakfast,’ he pleaded, hoarse with longing. ‘Would you have something you could give me? Like a roll, or something? An apple?’

‘You’re not bringing that gun in here!’ Verlie warned.

‘I won’t. I don’t have it. It’s not my gun.’ Nevertheless, only hunger could have persuaded Alec to relinquish the weapon, which had felt so comforting propped between his knees. He was determined not to stray far from that rifle. ‘I’ll pay you. I’ve got twenty bucks. Here.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Verlie replied. She sounded wary, but passed him some biscuits all the same. They were followed by a muesli bar, which Alec ate in two mouthfuls, spluttering his thanks.

‘Would you like something to drink?’ she queried. ‘Maybe a cup of tea? We’ll have to use the spaghetti water, I’m afraid.’

‘God, I’d
kill
for a cuppa,’ Alec breathed, before realising that this was an unfortunate choice of words, in the circumstances. Linda flashed him an intent, searching look, while Verlie frowned. ‘I mean – yes, thanks. Thanks very much,’ he mumbled.

He hadn’t exactly been invited in, but propped himself against the door-jamb, moving aside a little when Linda brushed past him on her way to rejoin the others. (‘Just to find out what’s going on,’ she explained.) The three kids, looking happier now that they were packing their stomachs, gazed at Alec with identically shaped pairs of eyes, set above furiously working jaws. They said nothing.

‘There you go,’ Verlie remarked, presenting him with a china mug containing hot water and a teabag. ‘I don’t know what it’s going to taste like, mind you. Milk and sugar?’

‘Milk. Please.’

‘It’s that long-life stuff.’

‘I don’t care.’ Anything even remotely resembling a cup of tea was fine by Alec. When it was ready, he took a big gulp, and closed his eyes to savour the penetrating warmth of it. Every knotted muscle in his face relaxed. He heaved a great sigh.

‘Bloody hell, that’s good.’ Words failed him; he couldn’t express the true depth of his gratitude. ‘I owe you, Mrs – um –’

‘Harwood.’

‘Harwood. Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

She had thawed a little, but not to the point where she was willing to allow him past the threshold. That much was clear. So he turned to go, pausing only when one of the kids – the boy – suddenly addressed him.

‘Mr Muller?’

‘Er – yeah?’ It was a long time since anyone had called Alec Mr Muller. He’d had to stop and think for a moment, before replying. ‘What’s up?’

‘Do you think something strange is happening?’

Alec eyed the boy warily. He seemed a normal enough kid, dressed in Kmart clothing; not a bush explorer or a footy player, obviously, but more of what Alec had always classified as a ‘computer type’, because he had that pale, quiet, serious look of a kid more at home with modems and science experiments than knee pads and air rifles.

Nevertheless, normal or not, he had hit the nail on the head, as far as Alec was concerned. Unlike Del, or Noel, or Ross, he had cut right to the chase. And that spooked Alec.

‘What do you mean?’ Alec mumbled.